


It's Not Cold (You are)

by ActiveAgression



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Accusations of heat magic, Cuddling, Episode: s01e05, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-28 23:25:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8466958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActiveAgression/pseuds/ActiveAgression
Summary: Sebastian has no idea why Nostradamus keeps touching him. Nor why it's so warm.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I started watching this today and... yeah. This happened. I couldn't find much bash/nostradamus so I wrote my own and it just kind of flowed. Like a river. I like rivers. whatever. 
> 
> Can I say there's something about Nostradamus that reminds me of Ray. It's the eyebrows I think. Don't know. But it's adorable. 
> 
> Also, playing hearthstone and writing Nostradamus over and over again rather than Nozdormu is a tricky art. 
> 
> Whatever, hope you enjoy. I enjoyed writing it.

Almost an hour after Sebastian watches the Pagan boy fall from the balcony, Nostradamus enters his room. Sebastian can’t see him from where he’s sitting but can tell from the thick silence. 

“You knew,” he says. 

“I saw,” Nostradamus agrees, “and you should not have to bear the choice of a sacrifice.” 

“You think you should?” 

Nostradamus moves quietly always but Bash isn’t surprised when he enters his peripheral vision, coming around the bed and hesitating. 

“I think I would prefer to choose than to let you do it.” 

Sebastian scoffs, “afraid i’ll pick wrong?” he asks. 

“Anyone you choose will be wrong. Anyone I choose will be wrong too.” 

He’s always spoke so soft. It used to infuriate Sebastian, but now he finds it all sorts of persuasive. 

“Who would you pick?” Sebastian asks, worrying with the idea in his head. He doesn’t want to have the weight of the decision but it’s abundantly clear that Nostradamus doesn’t either. “And why are you offering?” he continues before Nostradamus can even answer the first question, though he doubts he would have gotten much of an answer besides, ‘that’s not for you to worry about.’

“That’s not for you to worry about,” Nostradamus says and Sebastian feels a surge of pride at being  _ right  _ but then irritance because  _ of course. _

“I do worry,” he counters. He lifts his gaze to meet Nostradamus’s. He’s always had such intense eyes. They bother Sebastian on the best day. Now they seem to be peering into his soul. “You will tell me,” Sebastian commands. 

“You are not a king.” 

“You will still tell me.” 

“You have no power over me.” 

Sebastian rises to his feet and faces the other fully. “You will still tell me,” he murmurs and startles internally at how soft his voice has become. Nostradamus takes on an expression that’s almost pained and looks away. In all his years in court, Sebastian has never once seen Nostradamus look away first. He’s an intimidating unknown force to many and they can’t stand to keep the gaze long and the King’s wife never trifles herself with looking at him directly. Nostradamus simply never needs to look away, but he does now.

“You should not have to choose,” Nostradamus repeats to the floor. 

“Look at me and tell me the truth,” Sebastian commands, not quite used to people obeying him but happy it’s working. 

“You should not-” 

“Look at me.” 

Nostradamus squares his jaw, looks up and straightens to his full height. He never looks as tall as he is when viewed from across the court, but standing before Sebastian, he’s huge. 

“The truth,” Sebastian says, although his throat is dry and for the first time he feels fear for the man before him. The fear is only solidified as Nostradamus reaches for him, but he only grips Sebastian’s upper arm and stares at the contact point. 

“What-” Sebastian tries, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Just in case. Nostradamus doesn’t seem to care to listen to what he has to say though as his other hand comes up to mirror the first.

Sebastian squints, uncomprehending. “Are you… reading me?” he speculates. As soon as it’s out of his mouth, he knows it’s ridiculous. Nostradamus seems to think so too as his eyebrows pull together and he backs away, hands dropping to is sides. Sebastian tries to ignore the warm point where his hands had been and fails. 

Nostradamus looks him over with serious eyes. 

“I will take care of it,” he promises and Sebastian can only nod faintly as the Prophet strides out. 

What was that? And why does his heart feel like it’s about to jackrabbit out of his chest? 

He slumps onto his bed and sits there stupidly trying to make sense of Nostradamus but he can’t do that on a normal day when Nostradamus isn’t coming into his room, looking at him so seriously and touching him like they were connected in some way. 

‘Perhaps it’s a spiritual thing,’ Sebastian thinks and decides to leave it at that. Even so his heart beats rapidly and his shoulders keep warm throughout the night. 

 

  
“Heat magic?” he asks casually, stepping up beside Nostradamus. The King’s wife is across the room and not paying attention. Nostradamus looks down at him oddly. 

“Have you gone mad?” he questions. He sounds both serious and amused. Sebastian’s never met anyone else who can quite manage it. 

“No,” Sebastian denies, somewhat petulantly, “i just want to know what you did to me. Last night.” 

Nostradamus becomes stiff and his face closes off, “I did nothing. Don’t you have girls to chase?” 

“Don’t change the subject. I know you did something. I could feel it.” 

Nostradamus doesn’t move at all but his eyes shift back down to look at Sebastian. 

“What could you feel?” he asks in a tone that makes Sebastian’s skin prickle. 

“Warmth,” he says, “it was warm.” 

“Blankets tend to help.” 

“It was warm where you… touched me.” 

Nostradamus turns fully, looks at his shoulders and back to his face. “Was it?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well I can assure you. I did nothing.” He turns back to face the room at large and Sebastian feels an urge to kick him in the shin.

“I know you did,” he says instead, “tell me.” 

Nostradamus heaves a well put upon sigh. “Follow me,” he commands and starts walking before Sebastian can be insulted by it. He stalks after the larger man, staying just close enough to catch the slipstream through the crowd that Nostradamus leaves behind him as he walks. He’s wearing a cloak and it billows out, making him even larger than he is.

 

He catches up with the cloak in one of the less used hallways minutes away from the court. 

"I don’t see why you couldn’t just tell me in the court,” he complains, “it’s not like anyone’s listening.”

“Listening, no. But they may see.” 

“See what?” Sebastian asks, thoroughly irritated. He would appreciate a straight answer to  _ something. _

Nostradamus says something in another language that Sebastian doesn’t recognise and then, “tell me, tomorrow, what you felt?”

“Felt when?” 

“Tonight,” Nostradamus says and then he’s upon Sebastian so quick he doesn’t have time to even reach for his sword let alone use it. Nostradamus doesn’t move to incapacitate him though. His fingers trail along one of Sebastian’s ribs, from middle to his side and it stays there - light and so warm. 

“It’s warm,” Sebastian says, not sure what this is meant to show him. 

“I said tomorrow,” Nostradamus whispers and Sebastian registers how close they’ve become. The only place they’re touching is the hand on his side but Nostradamus’s mouth is level with his ear, only slightly to the right and the rest of his body seems to wrap protectively around Sebastian’s own but isn’t really. He thinks he should say something but doesn’t and their breathing starts to develop a synchronization that has his eyes fluttering closed. 

He wants to fall asleep. He knows he’s about to but just as he accepts it, Nostradamus moves away. His hand stays, stabilising the misstep Sebastian takes as his body wakes up. But then that too is gone and Sebastian opens his eyes to find Nostradamus across the hallway, watching him. 

“Tell me tomorrow,” he repeats and walks away. Sebastian’s steps warble as he tries to get back to the court until finally he decides to give up and go to bed. ‘A sedative,’ he thinks through the fog in his head, ‘it must have been a sedative.’ 

 

He fairly falls into his bed, very aware of the scorching heat emanating from his side - where Nostradamus had touched him. That moment had felt so calm even with Nostradamus so close. He’d felt oddly protected and wonders if that too had been the sedative or if there was other magic at play. 

Despite the sedative he cannot fall asleep. The bed’s not warm enough, and everything seems so loud. Strange how every noise the castle likes to make had stopped within Nostradamus’s cloak. Perhaps the cloak is enchanted. 

He thinks nothing of it when his hand drifts from laying over the odd heat left on his side down to his aching hardness. He hadn’t even noticed it harden, but there is nothing strange about a man touching himself in his own bed and so he thinks nothing of it. 

He tries to think of the girls around the castle, guiltily thinking about the Queen of Scots herself but quickly his mind blanks to nothing but the feeling of friction and the searing heat from his side. It feels much hotter now than it did before and he worries that perhaps he should see a physician. 

With such a train of thought in his head, he doesn’t find it odd at all that Nostradamus’s face flickers in his mind just as his orgasm crashes over him. 

  
  


“It’s definitely heat magic,” he accuses the next day, finding Nostradamus in one of the long hallways. It looks a lot like the one from yesterday though he knows it isn’t. It’s just one of the side effects of living in a castle. Everything looks the same. 

“You felt warm again?” Nostradamus asks, peering down at him in that way that Sebastian’s grown to hate. 

“Yes.” 

“Only where I touched you?” he clarifies. 

“Yes!” Sebastian hisses, “now what are you doing to me!?” 

“Does it feel warm now?” 

Sebastian glares at the complete dismissal of his question but thinks about it. “No,” he answers, because it doesn’t. He doesn’t feel warm at all now. Rather quite cold. “There’s quite a draft,” he mutters, drawing his cloak closer around him. 

Nostradamus raises an eyebrow. “No there isn’t. Are you cold?” 

“Yes,” Sebastian answers, eyeing the other’s clothing. It’s light for him - black as always but there’s no heavy cloak or even a lightweight one. “Aren’t you?”

“No,” Nostradamus answers and there’s a sort of hidden amusement in his expression that Sebastian doesn’t understand. He steps closer and reaches out to touch his hand to Sebastian’s forearm. Even through the cloak and other layers, he’s distinctly warm. “See?” 

“Heat magic then,” Sebastian guesses and Nostradamus shakes his head. He’s yet to remove his hand but Sebastian doesn’t remind him. 

“No heat magic,” he says. Sebastian huffs because there has to be some supernatural  _ thing _ to explain the abnormal heat. 

“Well it’s cold,” he sniffs, because it is and Nostradamus is just adept at lies. 

“Tell me if it gets colder,” Nostradamus instructs in much the same way he does when he’s playing physician. 

“It’s not a problem with me,” he argues, “i’m not cold. Everything else is.” 

Nostradamus adopts that serious look he likes and moves his hand away. Sebastian shivers at the cold that rushes to fill the empty spot. “Just tell me,” the other murmurs and goes to walk away. 

 

Sebastian’s not sure what possesses him to grab him as he goes, but he does. It would have been easier with a cloak, he wouldn’t have needed to grab so close to actual skin but there isn't a cloak and the heat that rushes up his arm from the contact is so nice he doesn’t think to remove his hand even when Nostradamus turns back around. 

“What is it?” 

“The sacrifice. I need to know who you picked,” he blurts because there hadn’t actually been anything at all. 

“No you don’t,” Nostradamus says and Sebastian’s absurdly worried for a second that  _ he knows _ there wasn’t anything. “It’s better if you don’t.” 

“I’ll find out,” Sebastian counters, “someone will find the body and-” 

“No they won't,” Nostradamus interrupts, “just forget it.” 

“But-” Sebastian tries but the other is walking away already, his shirt tugging out from Sebastian’s fingers. Sebastian shivers and furls the cloak around him tighter. It damn well has to be heat magic. 

  
  


That night Sebastian thinks he might die. He’s absolutely wracked with shivers and no amount of blankets seems to be doing anything. At first his nose had gone cold and he’d buried it under the blankets with him but it had remained cold and the feeling had spread. The fingers of his left hand went so cold he couldn’t clutch the quilts close to him anymore and the servant who had brought him one after the other had mopped sweat from her brow and asked if she should call a physician. 

“No,” he’d instructed, “just go.” 

She had but now he wished he’d asked her to get someone. Not necessarily Nostradamus at the time, but now… definitely Nostradamus. Heat magic sounded about the best thing right now. Sebastian shivers, curls up and shivers some more. How can it even be this cold? Maybe it was a curse. Maybe he’d been cursed for handing off his sacrificial responsibilities.

He lost feeling in his legs an hour ago and now his brain won’t let him sleep. It’s keeping his heart pumping fast and trying everything in it’s power to get him warm but nothing’s worked. It thinks he’s fell in some kind of ice lake, but he hasn’t. It’s just really cold. Abnormally cold. 

 

He barely hears his door open, but senses it and wishes he had the strength to roll over and see what was no doubt some kind of attacker here to finish him off. Instead there’s thick silence and a searing hand brushes his forehead. 

“You knew,” he accuses between his chattering teeth. 

“Moments ago.” Nostradamus agrees, “I had a vision.”

“Heat magic?” Sebastian suggests

“There is still no heat magic,” Nostradamus sighs and his hand moves away.

“Where are you going?” Sebastian asks, panicked. He hears movement behind him and part of him knows Nostradamus is silent when he walks but there’s another part convinced Nostradamus is just leaving him here to die. He shivers and startles when the hand returns, warm against his belly. The pain there ceases and he curls tighter around the hand.  The covers lift off him, but their absence makes little difference and then Nostradamus climbs in behind him and his entire back sears at the heat and settles. The cold seems to seep away with the contact and he shifts around until he’s facing the Prophet and confirms his suspicions. 

Nostradamus is bare chested and bare beneath beneath the quilts too, no doubt. Sebastian moves away enough so their no longer pressed so firmly together and every part of his nightshirt that leaves Nostradamus feels monstrously cold again. 

He shudders hard, letting Nostradamus pull him closer and buries his cold nose against the bare shoulder before him.

“Why is it so cold?” he asks quietly, already knowing the answer. 

“It’s not cold. You are,” Nostradamus replies, which is just the answer Sebastian had expected. 

“Why?” 

“I do not know,” Nostradamus says which isn’t quite the solution Sebastian wants to hear. 

“I’m still cold,” he mutters and Nostradamus nods like he’d been expecting him to say that. He loosens his hold which doesn’t help and slips his hands underneath Sebastian’s nightshirt. There’s no hint of cold where his hands are pressed, nor where Sebastian’s face is pressed against chest. 

“I have to strip, don’t I?” 

“You suggested it first,” Nostradamus replies like it’s some kind of joke that Sebastian doesn’t get. Despite the tone, he helps Sebastian shed his clothes.

“Isn’t this uncomfortable for you?” Sebastian asks as the other’s fingers reach his sleeping pants and nimbly start unlacing them.

“Not at all,” Nostradamus answers, which Sebastian takes to be a reference to him being a physician until his dark eyes look up and he asks, quietly, “is it for you?” 

‘Oh,’ he thinks, going through the first night in his mind from a much different perspective. 

“No,” he replies, just as quietly because he’s not quite sure of his answer. Nostradamus finishes undressing him and when they press back together, Sebastian feels the warmth and it’s not just warmth now. Beneath it is Nostradamus, whose body is not at all that of a woman’s but is stirring up all the kind of feelings theirs are meant to. Now that he knows, it’s hard not to think of it and he knows he’s hardening against Nostradamus’s thigh but can’t do anything to stop it. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, trying not to meet the other’s eyes but he fails and finds a sort of amusement there. 

“I do not mind,” Nostradamus responds. His eyes are ridiculously sincere and Sebastian can’t help but think to kiss him. 

“Will we be persecuted for this?” he asks instead, because that seems like a good first step. 

“That far into the future is tricky,” Nostradamus replies, looking distant, “there’s so many possibilities. 

“Tell me.” 

“If your father is king and finds out; I die and you will be sent far away. He will never think of you again.” 

“Oh.” 

“If your brother is king and finds out; he will allow it, but only as a secret.” 

“That’s not worth the risk,” Sebastian nods, despite how safe he feels and how cold it would seem apart. 

“I think it is,” Nostradamus says seriously. Sebastian stares at him for far less time than he means to and kisses him for far longer than he knows he should. When he pulls away though, he feels warm all the way through. 

Nostradamus looks troubled, “you should not have done that,” he mutters, “you taunted me enough already when you didn’t  _ talk  _ to me. This will be unbearable.” 

“When I didn- how long have you…” he cuts off, gesturing his hands in a nonsense motion that gets absolutely smothered by the fact they're covered by quilt and smack against Nostradamus’s chest before he’s finished. 

Nostradamus seems to get the idea regardless but rather than do something expected like blush or duck his head in the way people are  _ supposed to _ when there’s talk of feelings, he simply says, “a few years.”  __

“You never…” 

“Of course I never,” Nostradamus says like he’s stupid, which is fair as it was one of the stupidest half questions he’s ever managed. Of course he’d never have said anything. It most likely would’ve ended in his death.

“Were you going to tell me that first night?” 

“Not tell you,” Nostradamus says, “I was going to kiss you.” He looks amused which Sebastian doesn’t understand until he realises just what he’d said on the night. 

“Oh God,” he manages.

“You asked if I was ‘reading you’ and I realised we were not on the same page.” 

“We are now,” Sebastian offers and Nostradamus smiles one of the rare smiles he has. 

“I think you should sleep,” he says and he must be magic in some way or another, heat magic or not, because Sebastian feels tiredness seep through his bones like a soup. 

“Magic,” he slurs, and Nostradamus laughs throatily. 

“Still no magic,” he says but by then Sebastian is asleep. 

 


End file.
